Chapter Eleven
Fabricating A Feud
When Countess Vronsky removed me from solitary confinement, I devoured the visual feast of her dark brown hair framing her thin, pale face, punctuated by radiant brown eyes and an undercurrent of cynicism in her burgundy-glossed lips. Her irresistible face formed the diadem for her lithe body wrapped in a burgundy latex sheath with matching opera length gloves and pumps.
“Dear Goddess, you look as if you just stepped down from Mount Olympus. May I have a moment in private with you?”
“Mortals who consort with divinities risk lethal consequences.”
“I have something urgent to say.” My eyes, embarrassingly, homed in on her breasts.
“Let me guess,” she chided. “You’re in love with me!” Despite her mockery, she led me down the hall to her boudoir.
“We’re
